


In Which Clint Meets a Secret Agent

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: AU-gust 2020 [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clint was Adopted as a Child, First Meetings, Gen, alien invasion au, farm au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: The man closed the door of the sedan and strode around it, seemingly unconcerned with Clint’s glare. He walked over and settled himself about five feet from Clint. He removed his sunglasses, tucked them inside his jacket, and clasped his hands in front of him.“Good evening, Mr. Martin,” he said politely. “Or do you prefer Barton?”Clint flexed his arms and scowled. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you off my property right now.”All humor dropped from his expression. “Because your farm is about to become the epicenter of an invasion of hostile alien forces. And quite frankly you don’t begin to have the resources to repel the attack.”Clint stared at him. “Excuse me?”
Relationships: Clint Barton & Phil Coulson
Series: AU-gust 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870924
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	In Which Clint Meets a Secret Agent

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 11, 2020 on [Tumblr](https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/626204484056580096/au-gust-11-farmranch-au)

Sometimes, on days like today, when the stifling heat of summer made it hard to breathe and the cicadas started buzzing in the trees at sunset, Clint would sit on his porch with a beer in hand and try to keep the local wildlife away from his garden.

He also liked to idly amuse himself sometimes with “what ifs”. What if he’d run away from the orphanage that night with Barney. What if he’d never been adopted. What if he’d never inherited the farm. What if he’d joined the circus instead. Would he have been a knife thrower? Maybe an archer? The star of the show or a roadside attraction?

Clint whipped a pebble across the yard with unerring accuracy and a murder of crows took flight from where they’d been eyeing his sunflowers. Maybe he’d be a superhero by now, he thought on a whim. Then he snorted at the thought. He was just a no-account punk from Iowa. No way he’d have been able to keep up with the likes of Tony Stark or Captain America.

The sun was just beginning to set behind the barn when a black car started up his driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. Clint set his beer down and stood up, watching it approach warily. Shiny black sedans screamed “government,” and there was never a good reason for any of those folks to be poking around his neck of the woods.

He crossed his arms and planted himself on the thin grass in front of the porch. The car parked near the barn on the far side of the circle and Clint could see two men in the front seat. The driver didn’t move, but the passenger door opened and a man in a suit stepped out. He straightened himself up and tugged on the cuffs of his jacket, dark sunglasses on his face, the picture of a secret agent. Or maybe just a bureaucrat with suspect taste in eyewear.

The man closed the door of the sedan and strode around it, seemingly unconcerned with Clint’s glare. He walked over and settled himself about five feet from Clint. He removed his sunglasses, tucked them inside his jacket, and clasped his hands in front of him. Now that he could get a better look at him, Clint saw that the man was only a handful of years older than him, with thinning brown hair and kind eyes.

“Good evening, Mr. Martin,” he said politely. “Or do you prefer Barton?”

Clint flexed his arms and scowled. “Barton’s fine,” he said shortly. “What do you want.”

“My name is Agent Coulson,” the man said. “I work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.” He gave a little self-deprecating smile. “We call it SHIELD for short.”

“Mm-hmm,” Clint hummed skeptically. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you off my property right now.”

All humor dropped from Coulson’s expression. “Because your farm is about to become the epicenter of an invasion of hostile alien forces. And quite frankly you don’t begin to have the resources to repel the attack.”

Clint stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“There’s been chatter across the Nine Realms that the--” He said a word that was basically just a cluster of consonants dropped in a blender. “--are massing a significant force in advance of an attack. Experts have indicated that your farm - specifically, a point in the center of your back hay field - is the most likely location of their incursion.”

Clint looked at Coulson. Coulson looked steadily back at him. “This is not a joke, Mr. Barton,” he said quietly. “Models are suggesting this event may be on par with the invasion in New York last year.”

“New York,” Clint repeated. “The one with the space whales and the Avengers? That New York?”

“The very same,” Coulson confirmed.

Clint held Coulson’s gaze. He didn’t flinch or look away. “I’m not saying I believe you,” Clint said slowly. “But you and Spook the Second over there can come in and have a beer, and I’ll let you try to convince me.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Coulson’s mouth. “A sound bargain,” he agreed.


End file.
